Practice
by Moeyjo
Summary: So you think she looks real cool, swinging around a scythe like that? I got dropped on my head fifty-seven times while she was trying to master that trick. What? Don't look so shocked. You didn't think she was a natural, did you?


So you think she looks real cool, jumping around like that, with the way she swings the scythe? How she can switch hands behind her back without missing a beat? She looks like a real pro, right?

I got dropped on my head fifty-seven times while she was trying to master that trick.

Don't look so shocked. You didn't think she could do all that fancy stuff from the day we met, did you?

Oh Lord, you did.

Don't get me wrong, Maka has a natural athletic ability. All of that flipping and jumping and running is something she was good at long before we met, and she's only gotten better. But when it comes to doing all that while swinging around a six foot pole with a giant blade on the end, Maka is in no way a natural. Sure, she's fantastic at it now, but we've been together for almost two years. It's not like she could get any worse, let me tell you.

Any other person with her lack of scythe-wielding skills would probably still be hacking away at bad guys like an idiot. Using a scythe as a weapon is kind of an art form, but if you don't know it, it's just a mess. Hell, it's probably more efficient to just poke them to death with the other end, if you don't know what you're doing. But if Maka is anything, it's stubborn, and I learned all about that from day one in our training. Sometimes I think that maybe I'm just an accessory, that she could stubborn all our enemies to death by herself if she had to.

I'm not a dainty weapon, and I'm not fairy-light. At first Maka had trouble spinning me at all, since she's kind of short and scrawny, and I'm pretty top heavy. Most days at first the weight of the blade alone would yank me right out of her hands. She didn't complain much though. I don't know why she would, I was the one who kept getting dropped on my head. She used to apologize profusely, asking if I was injured and all that.

…It didn't really hurt that bad, but I never told her that. Can't blame a guy for wanting a little sympathy, can you?

Those first few weeks, she didn't make hardly any progress at all. I knew how hard she was trying too, because every night when we got back to the apartment, she would go straight to bed. Sometimes she didn't even make it to bed, and just collapsed on the couch. I felt a little bad for her then, but she was always so determined. We would train for hours and hours every day, practicing the same moves, learning new ones when she got the old ones down. I felt her muscles tremble with effort, her hands always slick with sweat. Maybe she was trying to impress the mother that left her. Maybe it was another way to assert her independence from her creepy father. I never asked, it's not really my business. In any case, I could never convince her to take a break, and I never saw her falter.

Ehh…nevermind, there was one time. We had already started going after souls, had a couple under our belt, but one night it seemed like we were fighting twice as hard, and the _thing_ was just toying with us. Maka would swing and miss, swing and miss, over and over. It laughed, Maka scowled, swung again, and missed again. I guess it got tired of playing, because it suddenly went offensive and clawed at Maka. Scared the crap outta me, but apparently Maka's better at dodging than swinging. She narrowly missed having half her face cut off, and we made a break for it down an alley to regroup.

She crouched down on the stone pavement, breathing hard, head buried in her arms. I switched to my human form; it's just easier to have a face-to-face that way. That night I learned that sometimes it's a weapon's job to do some cheerleading too. Just like with everything else she does, when Maka loses hope, she doesn't do it halfway. I pulled her up straight, gave her one of my cool grins, and told her I thought she could definitely beat the monster. I guess it worked, because whatever part of her was falling apart, she gathered it up and ran right back out to fight.

She did beat it and get the soul, even though it took her another hour to do it. Stupid girl. I had to carry her home, and she weighs a lot more than she looks.

Maka's determination rivaled Black Star's, in terms of having the will to get something right. Cuts, bruises, jammed fingers, smashed toes…They never even made her blink. One afternoon she stepped wrong and I almost hacked her whole leg off. It was days like those that made me want to just quit, but since she always kept going, I kept my mouth shut and went along.

Now I'm kind of glad I did. They say practice makes perfect, and all that work paid off. When we're in a battle, it feels like she knows exactly what she's doing. I haven't had a near miss with any of her limbs in almost a year. When I'm in my weapon form, it's like I'm an extension of her, or she's an extension of me. I can't explain it, and I don't remember when it started or what changed. But I do know that's how it's supposed to be.

Ahem.

So, yeah, you think she looks all awesome when she fights, so cool and fast, whipping me around like she's friggin Shinigami-sama. But you heard it from me, she sucked at it for a really long time.

* * *

Another one-shot, courtesy of the alien plot bunnies residing in my new apartment T_T

Please R&R!


End file.
